Sucks to Rescue
by Harey
Summary: I wrote this for my English final, but I started it on my own before I even knew we had to do a project. If the title seems strange at first, trust me, it'll all make sense in the end. I never did find out what I got on it...


**AN: This was actually my final project for English class, although I started it for my own benefit before I even knew we had to do a project. The teacher seemed to like it, but I never did find out what I got on it. I read the part about Jack out loud in class, but that was it. She was a really stupid teacher anyway. She was a sub, filling in for our REAL, AWESOME teacher during the second semester after she had a baby. Anyway, she had no idea what she was talking about. Ever. But she always liked what I wrote...But enough ranting. Enjoy.**

Ralph had his thoughts on the matter.

Ham. Bacon. Pork. Same thing to him. He was bloody well not going to eat anything that had come from a bloody _pig_ ever again. In fact, the mere sight of any meat at all made him want to vomit.

_Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!_

It was almost disappointing to be rescued, really. It made the whole ordeal seem like a distant dream turned nightmarish, not an actual occurrence that had irrevocably changed their lives. While it had been going on, their old lives had seemed like being born: so far behind them that they might as well forget, make a new life for themselves, however harsh. At least they weren't being constrained by the laws of society; instead they had forged their own, however primitive. Now they were being forced to rearrange their realities once more, and it was really quite agitating.

Once, he had dreamed of nothing but rescue, but it hadn't brought the relief he had anticipated. For all his outward wishing, all his hoping, he hadn't really believed. He had known that they were going to be stranded on that island until they all died, the way one knows he will never become famous, or find true love. The way one knows the answers won't all suddenly be made clear after death. Rescue had come as such an unexpected shock, that it was almost an unwelcome one.

And then there was Jack.

Jack Merridew, island antagonist. Crazy. Psycho. Batty. What-sodding-ever. And he couldn't believe that haughty cop!"I should have thought that a pack of British boys would have been able to put up a better show than that," indeed. Oh, how he would've liked to shove a doubly-sharpened stick right up the arse of _that_ one! And what did he think he was doing, keeping Jack from killing Ralph like that? The hunt was almost done with! But no, that silly man just _had_ to interrupt Jack's fun. What was the point of being stuck on an island when you couldn't kill your enemies?

At first he had almost _liked_ Ralph--or tried to anyway, seeing as he was the leader and all. But eventually, it had become obvious that Jack would make a far better chief than that stupid boy, however attractive he may be.

The release from civilized life had certainly been liberating, however short it had been. No more senseless rules, no more nonsense of that nature. No, there had only been survival. Domination. Power. All the fierce pleasure of blood and death and the hunt. Had his war not been so interrupted, Jack would have maybe kept Ralph for awhile before finishing him off. Made him a slave for a bit. Yes, that would've been quite nice.  
Roger was never really quite sure why he killed Piggy.

The fleshy boy had always invoked contempt in him. Perhaps it was this consistent annoyance that Roger had come to associate with Piggy's presence that, in such a desperate situation, had led to his demise.

Or maybe it was fear. However ridiculous Piggy had seemed, he had been the voice of reason on the island: Occasionally heeded, but very seldom, and never given credit for his usefulness. He had been the real force behind some of Ralph's better accomplishments; without him, they all would have surely perished quite early on.

Perhaps Roger had been driven to kill him because, in the frenzy of that scene, with his chief so near victory, Roger had known that Piggy, the voice of reason, if not stopped immediately, would be finally be heard--at the worst possible time. The only way to ensure success for the tribe had been to destroy all that stood in their way, and that had meant that whiny, bothersome Piggy had to go. Or maybe it was just that Roger loved having the power to end a life. There was no question that he got a thrill out of the pain of others. Death, more than anything, seemed to cast its shadow over their time on the island.

At first it had almost seemed like a game: No boring grown-ups telling them what to do, the pleasant weather, the delightful, exotic scenery. That confidence and security had soon faded, however, allowing their civility to gradually diminish as well. Even before the incident with Simon, death had seemed to wait silently among the creepers, making polite, unheeded warnings. The boys had not listened, and had instead allowed themselves to turn on one another, therefore making no one safe. Perhaps what scared them the most was that they were _all_ responsible for the deaths of Simon and Piggy. Every single one.

They all told themselves that maybe if they had somehow managed to stay civilized, to work together and maintain order amongst themselves, maybe everything would be okay, that they would've gotten rescued sooner and everything would've been allowed to go back to the way it was before.

What they knew was very different: No matter what they did to organize themselves, without the comfort and guidance of grownups and familiar everyday life, things were bound to fall apart, and they could not have prevented it. They simply could not rely on themselves. The evil lurked beneath their _own_ skin--they only had to let it out. They _were_ the beast.

Even Simon had known that before he died. The Lord of the Flies had told him so.

_"You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?"_

If only he had lived long enough to tell them these things. If only they'd given him the chance. Maybe then their condition would have improved┘Or maybe they would've taken a different sort of turn for the worse.

It didn't matter. What was done was done and there was no way to reverse it. Their time on the island had forced them to mature in a way that many adults would never have the ability to comprehend. Even the naval officer who'd come to rescue them didn't quite get it. He had acted like it was all some game. Like it really was what they thought it would be when they got there.

_"We are going to have fun on this island. Understand?"_

Yeah, right.


End file.
